Against the Clock (9 page)

"That's okay," he said, taking the towel. Almost casually, he asked, "Do you want to talk about what's really going on?"

His honesty often caught her off guard. It was a character trait she felt ill equipped to manage at times. It fought against the very nature of her training, her life, and her survival. Yet she found herself liking, even relaxing in his genuine aura.

"I'm in trouble, Ben," she said truthfully. Her comment hung in the air for a stalled heartbeat, then she quickly added, "Financial trouble."

Ben stopped drying himself off and watched her carefully as she continued. "I remember you telling me about your sister's financial troubles, with her divorce…and was hoping you could put me in touch with that forensic accountant she used?"

"Is that it?" he asked, noticeably relieved as he took a deep breath and expelled it before continuing, "I thought it was something scary."

He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. Then, wrapping the damp towel around his waist, he walked to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. Peering over his mug, he said, "You didn't have to come all this way just to ask me that. You could have called."

"I know," she said.

13:09:51

Walking briskly away from Ben's apartment complex, Shirin disconnected the call on her cell phone and picked up her pace to a fast jog.

Ben had called his sister, Shirin had gotten the number of the accountant, she had thanked Ben, agreed to dinner on the weekend―if she was still alive―and left.

She speed dialed Barratt's burner phone.

He answered within two rings.

"What have you got?" she asked without breaking stride.

"I recognized one of the men in the photos. He used to work for the Agency, in protection. What he's doing now, or how he's involved, is anyone's guess. I reached out to an old friend who may be able to set up a meet with him. Just waiting for him to call me back."

Shirin rounded the next corner, crossed the road, and hailed a cab with her free hand. While she waited, she continued, "Just got off the phone with the forensic accountant. On my way to meet him now. I'll text you his details. Go to my computer. Do you remember the day Harry asked me to marry him? The song he played on his phone?"

"Yes."

"That's the password. First letter of each word in lower case, the rest in uppercase, no spaces. Access my databases and check out the accountant. I'll be at the meet in twenty minutes. If you find anything, get me what you can by then."

Getting into the back seat of the cab, preparing herself for the meeting ahead, Shirin placed her backpack beside her, felt the weight of the gun hidden inside it, and wondered with a detached curiosity if she would need to use it.

13:17:04

Minister Jordan clung to the doorframe of the toilet stall. She felt dizzy, disorientated. As though plucked from the earth and thrown into a rotating chasm of reversing gravity.

She had tried desperately for the past two hours to get a grip on her life, so quickly spiraling out of control. The calls to her husband went unanswered, and while she grasped at the thinnest of hopes that the photos of her husband in the arms of another man were somehow fake, the reality of his betrayal squeezed its tentacles around her heart tighter and tighter.

She had no tears left, yet still she cried. There had been no warning signs she could see, no troubles in their relationship that she could recognize. How this could happen, why this would happen, dumbfounded her.

Once Zelig left her, she regained some composure and examined each photo over and over, looking for some indication of being doctored or altered. But reluctantly, she steeled herself for the truth that there were too many photos showing the same details for them all to be fake.

Another round of nausea fought for control of her balance; she stumbled into the empty toilet stall and dropped heavily onto the lidded bowl.

Bent over her legs, she sobbed loudly. Slowly the realization of Zelig's motives became clearer in her mind. The repercussions of his veiled threat and subtle blackmail fell before her like dominos.

If those photos were to ever find the light of day, her husband's life and, by extension, her life would cease to exist in any way palatable to her. She could see in her mind the scandal unfolding: her husband of thirty-four years being arrested for statutory rape, the inevitable media storm casting permanent shadows over her judgment and credibility, perhaps alluding to prior knowledge. Knowing Zelig as she did, he had probably already fabricated evidence implicating her awareness, and possibly even her participation. The fortress that was her professional achievement would come tumbling down in a matter of weeks, if not days.

Then, of course, she was sure Zelig would find a way to leak the photos to the press. Her shame would be complete. The fact that her marriage was over would be a small but cherished moment for the spy, she was sure. She could already imagine his smug smile knowing he had won.

The bastard had beaten her.

The helplessness, the betrayal, the despair was overwhelming.

From across the executive bathroom, her cell phone rang. Its dull tones broke her free of the horrible thoughts overwhelming her heart.

It was her personal phone. Only her family and her dearest friend had that number. She pried herself loose of the toilet bowl, hoping it was her husband calling back with some explanation that dispelled all possibilities of this nightmare becoming true. She dashed to the marble counter and dug hurriedly through her bag to catch the cell before it stopped ringing.

"Hello?" she panted.

"Sue, it's Tony." Feigned sympathy colored Zelig's tone.

"How did you get this number?" Minister Jordan asked in shock.

"Well, when you didn't take my calls or return my messages, I thought it prudent I contact you this way."Zelig paused for a moment before continuing, "I was worried about you, Sue. How are you coping?"

The familiarity of Zelig using her first name repulsed her, and angered her more.

"If you've called to gloat, you'll have to wait. I'm heading into a meeting," she said, doing her best to regain some semblance of dignity.

"Come now, Sue, when did we digress to the point where you're lying to me? And not very well, either, I might add." Before she could protest, Zelig added, "I know you're in your private executive bathroom, and that you've been in there virtually since I left your office. I also know that you've had the rest of your day rescheduled."

"You're spying on me?"

"I prefer to think of it as me 'looking out' for you."

"You arrogant asshole!"

"There will be plenty of time for name calling when I get off the phone," he interrupted. "But since it seems the pleasantries are over, let me get straight to the point. I understand that you cancelled your flight plans for tonight and rescheduled your meeting with Senator Wilson until next week. Well, that won't work for me. So I had your original itinerary reinstated."

"You did what?"

"I think this meeting with Senator Wilson is far too important to defer. Don’t worry, I understand you have some important issues to discuss with your husband. I believe he has been avoiding your calls and messages…
tsk tsk
, that's not how a man should treat his loyal wife. But not to worry. I'm having him picked up and delivered to the airport. The two of you can have some quality time on the plane, uninterrupted, to hash out all this gay underage affair business."

For the second time that day, Minister Jordan was shell-shocked. She could formulate no articulate comeback, no defense, no offense, she just screamed into the phone with the rage and frustration of a person on the brink of losing her sanity.

"By the way," he added as an afterthought, "I'll have my man drop by with a file I need you to deliver to Senator Wilson. I suggest you carry it through in your diplomatic pouch; it contains some sensitive information we wouldn't want prying eyes to see."

Before she could respond, he disconnected the call.

13:28:46

Shirin exited the cab three blocks south of her destination and walked the rest of the way. There was no one following her, she was certain, but on foot, she had more time to assess the approach and exits of the meeting place.

They had agreed to meet at a small café around the corner from the accountant's building. It was a good plan, but one she had no intention of following.

The forensic accountant's name was Gerald Maier. According to the profile emailed over by Barratt, police databases indicated he had no criminal record and no known affiliations with the government. By all accounts, his reputation was of a sharp mind, an intuitive financial investigator, and a man straight as an arrow. Barratt had not been able to find any leverage over him.

Shirin baulked at the email. Everyone had something to hide. She had told Barratt to keep digging. Looking at the photo taken from his corporate website, his appearance seemed to mimic his professional image perfectly. He had graying hair cut short and neat, and a clean-shaven face adorned only by a pair of frameless glasses that discreetly added a studious look to his otherwise unassuming features. He looked trustworthy and capable.

Arriving a few minutes early, she walked past the café. He wasn’t there yet. As she hoped, she had clearly arrived before he left the building. If he had arrived at the café before her, she would have been forced to wait for him to return to his office building before approaching him.

Meeting at the café presented the ideal ruse to get him out of his office without arousing any suspicions, but to actually meet there would make her more exposed than she cared to be. Besides, she'd already had one bad café experience for the day.

The lobby of the executive building was unmanned; there was no reception area, only a well displayed sign indicating office locations, floor allocations, and a detailed elevator chart. A bay of four elevators lay in wait behind the wall.

Apart from the tasteful arrangement of green potted plants carefully positioned around the foyer, the ground floor seemed devoid of life. It gave off a cold and stark feeling, free of any human or emotional expression. In different circumstances, Shirin would have felt comfortable here.

The burner phone tucked into her pants pocket buzzed two short bursts. A text message from Barratt. He had heard from his contact. A meet with William Dornan had been arranged. She had an hour and twenty minutes to get there. Not much time. She quickly thumbed over the keyboard of the cell phone and instructed Barratt to wait for her. Her strategy for the accountant would have to be more direct.

Waiting behind the wall that obscured the elevator bay from the entrance, she returned the phone to her pocket and stood, listening. The tone of the elevator signal indicated one of the cars was about to arrive on the ground floor. As she heard the doors hiss open, she walked forward, straight for the elevators.

A lone figure emerged. It was a young man, dressed sharply in a knock-off suit, his hair slicked back, phone glued to his ear, looking hurried. He was not the man she was waiting for. She walked past him as though she belonged there. He paid her no attention.

She stood in the middle of the four elevator doors, waiting. Another elevator tone indicated the car on her left was about to arrive.

When the doors opened, a tall man exited the lift. It was Gerald Maier.

"Excuse me," Shirin said. "Does this lift go up to Mr. Gerald Maier's offices?"

The man looked slightly taken aback but quickly said, "I'm Gerald Maier. But I'm sorry, miss, I'm just leaving for a meeting. My secretary is still available, though, for you to make an appointment."

"Mr. Maier, my name is Katie Jones," Shirin said, extending her hand. "You were on your way to meet me at Tom's Café, yes?"

"Well, yes, Miss Jones." He looked slightly confused.

Before he could continue, Shirin interrupted. "I was waiting for you at the café but just received an extremely urgent phone call. I have to get to the other side of town. But this meeting is very important to me, so I was just on my way to leave this with your secretary." Shirin handed him a small flash drive. "It has all the files we discussed. I was going to try to reschedule another appointment through your secretary before I left."

"Oh, I see…"Maier examined the USB drive.

"As I mentioned briefly on the phone with you, my ex-husband was very…calculating and careful when concealing his financial actions just prior to our separation. I know he hid the majority of our shared funds. My accountant advised me to see someone of your caliber and specialty."

"Yes, Miss Jones, I fully appreciate the difficulty in matters like this. Hmm… I think it is a good idea for you to reschedule a meeting with me at a time when we can both have an appropriate exchange of the details."

"Of course, Mr. Maier! I ask only if you could have a look at the files, and I'll organize another appointment with your secretary. If you are interested and able to help me, I'll make myself available at any time that is convenient for you."

Before he could suggest she keep the flash drive until their next meeting, she thanked him and left the building.

14:31:12

Barratt found himself feeling uneasy. He had managed to arrive at the meet location fifteen minutes early. It was not early enough by his standards.

Kitchener Park was located in the middle of the city, adjacent to the CBD. It added a splash of color to an amalgamation of gunmetal buildings. The park stretched a total of thirty acres decorated with paved walkways, lakes, trees, open spaces, and private nooks. It provided the people of Sydney with their only natural retreat.

Close to the south entrance of the park, a large statue of a uniformed man looked up into the sky. At the base of the statue, water arched out and splashed loudly into the man-made pond surrounding it. It was Kitchener Fountain, a memorial to a great leader of the pre-war era. And it was the place Barratt was to meet with William Dornan.

Barratt watched the perimeter of the fountain from a distance. With the deadline for the meet quickly looming, he wanted to get a better understanding of the location, to map potential escape routes, and to see if he could identify a trap lying in wait for him.

The location was both perfect and dangerous. The water from the fountain hindered the effectiveness of listening devices, and the landscape made a snatch-and-grab unlikely. The open spaces, clusters of tall trees, and nearby buildings provided ideal opportunities for a sniper to protect their agent, or to take down a mark.

Working outside his normal Agency contacts and supplies, Barratt had only a 9mm Beretta, useless against a well-trained sniper from a distance. And without his Kevlar vest, he felt naked.

He didn't like meeting in this way. He was sure that was the whole idea. Dornan knew what he was doing.

Barratt checked his watch. The time had come to make his way to the fountain. He hadn't spotted any security team, and there was no sight of Dornan anywhere. He wasn't surprised. He assumed Dornan would wait for him to be in a vulnerable position, make sure he was alone, and then show himself.

The burner phone in his pocket buzzed twice. He read the message from Shirin while walking. She had arrived.

Still weighing heavily on his mind was how and why this man was connected to the people responsible for Harry's death. And becoming a more focused thought was whether this man was also involved in the cover-up and pursuit of Shirin. That the pursuit now included him was of little consequence.

Snapping his mind back to what had happened to Harry, and what was happening now, he understood Shirin's rage. Understood it well. He felt it too.

14:34:51

Shirin arrived at Kitchener Park near the south entrance. She did not enter the park, but remained city-side of the main road. On the footpath, she looked up and assessed the building that loomed over her. It had an unobstructed view of the park. In the distance, she could see the large statue atop Kitchener Fountain.

She didn't like this situation at all. She felt unprepared and ill supplied. She had only her backpack with two guns, nothing else. And given the timing of the meeting, it would have been impossible to pick up supplies and still make it here.

Barratt had been adamant that this was the only opportunity to meet with Dornan and that he was going in with or without her.

As her stare pierced every shadow and assessed every person in the park she could see, her gut was screaming that this was a trap.

She glanced up and down the busy street. There were no large vans, no vehicles with government plates, nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. This was the closest and most readily accessible part of the park. If they were planning to abduct Barratt, this would be their point of entry.

But she could see nothing.

If this was a trap, and there was no "grab team," it could only mean there was a "hit team."

Shirin focused toward the fountain. She had planned and executed termination orders many times throughout her career. And this was the perfect location for an assassination.

From her vantage point, concealed in the doorway of a retail store, she could see several people positioned throughout the park. Without binoculars, it was impossible to discern if they were friendly or potential hostiles.

Again, she cursed the situation. She was running out of time.

In the distance, she saw a lone man walking along the tree line around the clearing and fountain. She couldn't see his face, but knew from his movements that he was Barratt.

Shirin cringed visibly. From her viewpoint, with her ability, she knew instantly how vulnerable he was. If there were a sniper on the roof above her, there was nowhere safe in the park and little that would stop a bullet from finding his head and tearing a path right through it.

She bowed her head, shut her eyes tightly, and expelled a large breath. They were going to kill Barratt. She felt it.

14:46:19

Barratt heard the footsteps behind him before he saw the man approach. He turned toward the man and recognized him instantly―William Dornan. He walked a little slower and looked a lot older than the younger version Barratt remembered.

"So, Trent Barratt! It's been too long, old friend, “Dornan muttered with a slight drawl. As he neared, he extended his hand.

The two men shook hands, Dornan’s smile the more genuine.

"It has been too long. Looks like time has been kind to you, Will," Barratt lied.

Dornan smiled again, and this time there was a melancholy behind it. "Perhaps…" He motioned for Barratt to follow him to the edge of the fountain. He leaned over uneasily and braced himself on the concrete ledge before lowering himself onto one of the benches attached to the concrete balustrade.

He looked up at Barratt and answered the question on Barratt's mind."Two years ago, I was on a mission… It didn't go so well…and now…Well, now I'm not in the field anymore."

Barratt didn't know what to say. Living and dying were an accepted part of his business, but like so many other agents, the thought of living with crippling injuries rarely, if ever, entered his conscious thoughts.

"You reached out to me, “Dornan said. "What is it you think I can do for you?"

Barratt looked deep into the man's eyes. He was battle worn, beaten. Yet something told Barratt he was still dangerous.

"I'm looking into a few old assignments, specifically old targets," he started, "and going through the records, I noticed your name popped up a few times." He didn't shift his gaze from Dornan's face."I was hoping you could fill in some gaps for me."